


Constant Displeasure or How The Batman Hates Xmas

by Ruth_McKean



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman - Fandom, Smallville
Genre: Alfred is a CREEP, BATMAN HATES EVERYTHING, Crack, Disturbing Themes, Gift Fic, M/M, PTSD, happy holidays!, superman saves christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruth_McKean/pseuds/Ruth_McKean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman doesn’t enjoy ANYTHING—cos he’s BATMAN…Festive madness ensues, Robin doesn't lay eggs... and Alfred is kind of a creep. Happy Holidays Bruce!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Displeasure or How The Batman Hates Xmas

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to Krissy-Sissy for some hols way back when, literally created this ff to torment her. It worked.
> 
> Warnings: Read at own discretion— Uber-Crack, to the max…  
> Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine.

It was a cold, wet, miserable day in Gotham City.

Snow drifted down from the sky, obscuring the darkness with a strange and ever-present gray glow.  Had the Bat Signal been used yet, no one would have been able to see it—let alone Batman, or rather, Bruce Wayne, who sat miserably at the window, hating Christmas.

“Hate Christmas,” Bruce grumbled, allowing an angry fist to beat down against one shiny windowpane, decorated with annoying amounts of golden garland and twinkling purple fairy lights.

“Hate snow,” the sky seemed to darken further as he narrowed his eyes at the approaching storm clouds, “hate clouds!” The world outside grew more grim, the snow that had been gently billowing down to blanket his mansion picked up, and he heard the birds kept in a great cage in the next room chirping nervously at the approaching bad weather.

Lifting up a random switch box hidden secretly in his belt— _one that he had taken glee in installing—_ Bruce took a moment to reflect on how _awesome he truly was_ before he looked at the switch and wet his lips with anticipation as the red switch flickered from ‘closed’ to ‘open’ with a quick flick on his thumb. He waited a moment, listening as the chirping grew ever-louder, a symphony of terrified bird calls and an alarmed butler’s voice crying out “Oh dear me, Master Bruce, not this again!” as a _whoosh!_ of air swept the birds out into the cold, and then there was nothing as they flew off towards freedom. Silence.—

_Ahh, lovely._

Chirp! _Chirp!_   A lone survivor bird called out for his lost parents, who left him all alone in their bid for freedom— _watching them as they fell to the ground, the sound of screams and the shattering pain of being alone, all crashing down on him as—_

 _“I hate birds!”_ Bruce thundered, and turned to the door where his baffled looking butler stood, shaking his decaying head slowly—dark eyes too knowing, and making Bruce feel like a child all over again—a child who had just wanted to see how the cat worked, _and he’d put him back together again, promise._

_“Master Bruce, I say—that cat of ours, have you—? Oh, oh my…my dear boy, what have you done?”_

What had he done, _indeed?_ He’d merely been making a  scientific breakthrough for eight-year-olds all over the world! The cat had died from something, something dasterdly! But what? He knew that Holmes boy would’ve understood the drive of discovery, if only the loser hadn’t lived all the way in England!

“Master Bruce! Sir—” Alfred broke off as Bruce shook himself out of his peculiar stupor—the one he seemed to find himself in every Christmas…or Tuesday, or whenever he was feeling down and the world seemed to hate him. Practically any day of the week, where his overflowing piles of gold could be out to good use buying him booze, bitches and prescription bottles. _“Sir_ , Master Dick is awaiting you downstairs, he says he has a surprise for you,” Alfred tried his best to smile, but his attempt failed and Bruce was left wondering how it was he was _always_ letting this great, brilliant, caring, **_beautiful_ ** man down.

“Of course he is, Alfred,” Bruce smiled calmly at the old man. Making sure to flip the switch on his belt back up so that the old man would not fall out of the window in the bird’s room as he went to prepare the next batch of doves for Bruce’s latest _experiments—all in the name of science, of course._

_I’m Batman._

_It’s cos I’m Batman!_

“Yeah, I’m Batman,” Bruce whispered as he left the room, sighing as he looked around at his gorgeously lit mansion, the decorations his mother had loved all put up on display. He frowned as he realized that Alfred was already downstairs, dark eyes watching him curiously, and lips moving soundlessly as he held out a tray with two large mugs of homemade eggnog awaiting them.

“Cheers, Bruce!” Dick said with a smile as he picked up a mug and held it out to clink against Bruce’s, which made Bruce’s ears ring and caused him to see red— _and not a Christmas red, but a lovely shade of blood red—and all of the screams, FEARME! FEAR ME!_

“Bruce? Are you okay?” Dick asked with a concerned look on his young face, and Bruce grinned and ruffled the younger man’s hair, knowing how much he hated the attention, but enjoying the spark of warmth he felt at the familial feel of the holidays this year. “Say, how about a game of chess?”

The question had memories swirling around Bruce’s mind; _his father, preparing the chess set, waiting patiently as Bruce picked up the pieces and tried to move them—but always in the wrong way, ‘the pawn’s can’t move that way, Brucey, c’mon, weren’t you listening to me? Don’t you ever listen? Can’t you do ANYTHING RIGHT?!’_ The world whited out around him, and Bruce thought for a moment he would tumble to the ground, but he merely shook his head again, and looked down into the drink he’d just consumed, and then looked into the ever-aging eyes of Alfred the Butler, and whispered a broken _“What have you done to me?”_

“Oh dear, Master Wayne, did you not inform the cook to restock the kitchens when I was away? I left you one thing to do, to inform the cook and stock-boy of when you would need more supplies, I do believe I have given you expired milk—my most sincere apologies, my dear, dear child.” Bruce squinted one eye at the old man, daring him to say one more word or twitch one more old muscle in his direction, but the old man merely regarded him with the cool love of a disappointed parent; his finely-aged cheeks like stone as they stood staring one another down. This was only intruded upon when Dick let out a “Gee Alfred! This is the best eggnog I’ve ever had!”

At Bruce’s questioning look at Dick, he noticed that the young man had finished the mug and felt a sense of merriment at the thought of Dick drinking the entire expired concoction, but after a moment, he felt, rather than heard Alfred’s guilty sigh and knew that something was amiss.

“I hate eggnog!” he said in a thunderous growl, ignoring the smirks sent his way.

“Alas, Master Bruce, Master Dick finished off the last of the good milk in his drink. I am truly sorry—although, I do believe it would have been your mother’s deepest and fondest wish to have given the last of the recipe to your young ward—you’d do her proud—Master Bruce.” Bruce felt one eye twitching in madness as he contemplated Alfred’s words… _her ‘deepest and fondest wish’ should’ve been to be here with me, not anything to do with that annoying bird, I am the great Batman!_

Bruce realized that there was someone standing before him a moment before he was gripped into a tight hug—his ward having taken this moment of weakness for some sort of opening for mutual _affection,_ Bruce heard the word echoing disgustingly in his mind, like the flap of a thousand leathery wings in the cave all those years ago—

_“Master Bruce! Brucey, where are you? Where have you—? Oh my dear, oh dear…”_

The world was shaken away when he felt Dick giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and Bruce raised a hand to his own face, wondering at the love and compassion of his dear young friend.

“Thank you Bruce, thank you so much!” the younger man was saying, and Bruce looked down at the gestured motion of Dick’s hands, only to see that “Santa” had apparently gifted Dick with one of his oldest chess sets. _‘I hate secret Santa!’_ the voice in his mind roared, but he stayed calm on the outside, even as his hand inched up closely to thumb at his hidden utility belt. _‘Ah, my precious,’_ he stroked the belt lightly, but did not hover long over it for fear that the old man would see him, glancing up to a shadowy corner where he was sure Alfred was watching him silently, always _there… always… watching…_

“Of course, Dick—anything for my favourite ward,” he heard himself saying as he sat down by the fireplace, back to the stormy night and the fresh scent of the Christmas tree gave him some small cheer. He motioned to the chess set, and grit his teeth as Dick took the black side, and thought ‘ _I’m Batman, the DARK KNIGHT—I should be black!’_

“Hm, maybe we should have our game of chess tomorrow night, I think I’ll need to go over some strategies before I take on the likes of you,” Bruce chuckled at the unsubtle compliment, and lay back in his comfortable chair, enjoying himself for once. He felt himself dozing lightly, listening to the charming sounds of Dick’s laughter, and the dry and whispery response— like leaves over a gravestone, the butler responded back to the ward—from Alfred’s shadowy retreat. “I think I should get it now,” Dick stage whispered and Bruce thought _‘YES! GIFTS FOR ME, THE MERE MORTALS AT MY THRONE, GIVING ME THEIR SACRIFICES OF—’_ The thought broke off as suddenly something wet touched his face, and for a moment he thought _‘Dick, he knows—are we under the mistletoe?’_ but the feeling of whiskers made him pull back in revulsion. _‘Alfred, the pervy old man—’_ but the kisses were odd and suddenly all thoughts of sleep were gone when he heard a small whimpering bark from the creature held before him.

_A DOG!_

_‘I AM MAN’S BEST FRIEND, NOT YOU! YOU LOATHSOME LITTLE BEAST!’_ Batman snarled in his mind, and tried to communicate using only his white—and battle-ready sharp—teeth, and his glinting, mad eyes. But the dog seemed to not care for such means of communication and merely licked Bruce’s face again until Dick was laughing, and it was this noise that made Bruce smile.

“Ah, is this a friend of yours, Dick?” He asked the younger man, and chuckled as the puppy turned and gave Dick a lick on the cheek for his tummy rubbings, _‘If only he’d do that to me!’_ Bruce thought with jealousy, eyeing the dog and wondering if he could get a giant puppy suit without Alfred finding out about it.

“Well I was walking down to the store with Lex when—” Dick started to tell his tale of finding the dog but Bruce was too busy sizing up the old man who had suddenly appeared before him, withered old face pale in the firelight. At the knowing cough and look, Bruce knew he had been caught with his hand in the metaphorical dish before he had even had the chance to explore such a cunning and devious plot.

“…it was odd, but when I explained that you were a big fan and that it was a bit of an inside joke, he said he’d have no problem, but that the trade mark you’d had put on it would make it cost a bit more, but I didn’t mind since…” Dick’s story continued and Bruce wondered what the man was still talking about at a time like this—when the time for _vengeance_ was here!

“…you’ll find more about that when you open up your…” Alfred allowed a small grin of victory to light up his face, and Bruce snarled hating that this war could never end until one of them was good and DEAD!

 _‘Curse you, old man! You’ll get yours!’_ Bruce vowed, but looked away all the same, locking the idea of the puppy suit inside the large vault-like cave that served for privacy in his mind. Hidden there were other devious plots, but ones that could not be described to anyone, cos no one would understand—not even Superman, _and that guy was fucked up!_

“…so anyway, that’s how Bippy came to be here with us,” Bruce smiled and nodded, and let his hand out for the dog to sniff and lick, and finally allowing being pet on the soft head. Bruce allowed himself to really enjoy the feeling of sharing a pet with someone else, a pet that he knew was off-limits to his experiments, but would surely be a loyal and true friend.

 _“I hate stupid names, Bippy,”_ Bruce whispered to the tiny dog, its large brown eyes studying him with a too-smart look for a dog, almost seeming to say _“I hate stupid superhero costumes—AND TIGHTS!”_ to which Bruce had to twitch and minutely agree. Once again thinking back to his earlier days of purple and black capes and drawn-on squiggly eyebrows, he shuddered at the thoughts—at the LSD trips and the horrible sayings his young sideki—“Holy Batman Ice-Pops, Batman—look at the snow out there!” 

Bruce bit back a scowl, but allowed his head to slowly swivel to stare out at the worsening weather, the likes of which he would never dare venture out into, unless it was a matter of the most import—such as the need for more petroleum jelly for his experiments, or maybe for more doves for his bird room.

Cozy minutes passed as Bippy settled to the ground in front of the fire. Bruce withheld from accidently nudging the shivering creature closer to the flames—but only because Alfred was watching. He knew the man would tell him that _“Bippy had to find his own way into the hellfire, and no one should force him there before his time,”_ such sound words of wisdom often colouring his childhood and making the obvious moral choices more blatant and obvious.

_‘I hate morals!’_

Dick was building a grand card mansion on the puzzle table a bit away, and Bruce watched with fascination as another layer was raised up and more glamour was added to the simple and lovely creation. He approached slowly and was about to congratulate Dick when he saw that just _one_ card, one small _Jack—_ the Jack of spades, to be precise— _was slowly pushing two_ blood red _royalty cards_ into sudden chaos… _The entire mansion collapsing in on itself as a Queen of Hearts slowly fell to the ground, followed by a quickly diving King of Diamonds. The clubs, all two through nine were crashing down upon the small boy—as if they were bats descending upon their pray and the small boy was helpless, but not alone—no, never alone…_

“I hate houses of cards!” Bruce heard Dick grumble, taking the words right out of his mouth, and he gave a hearty laugh, watched in fascination as Dick smiled through frustration and gathered up all the cards, only to try again, harder this time. His ward was _awesome,_ and he caught Alfred watching them with true happiness in his face, and he waved at the Butler and pet Bippy, and wished that all days could end so happily.

But alas, the night was not to end there on a happy note—when finally the stroke of midnight came, Dick held out a medium sized package for Bruce to take—it was all black and covered in large yellow cones. The box lid had a bright yellow ribbon on its top and Bruce felt his heart squeeze as he read the label _“To my hero, love, your biggest fan.”_

“Oh Dick,” Bruce said, struggling to open the box while tears gathered in his eyes. He burst into laughter as he realized that _this_ must be the gift mentioned in the long, tedious and infamous story of Bippy, but the laughter died on his lips as he realized that the logo in his hand was not the famous Bat-symbol but the stupid “S” for Superman!

“Oh it must’ve gotten mixed up,” Dick began, but already Bruce was fuming—throwing the crystal symbol felt good, hearing it shatter like bone on the cold hardwood floors felt better—eyes narrowing in rage and mouth open wide, a vortex of anger and destruction.

“I’M BATMAN!” Bruce thundered, and launched himself at the completed card house, teeth snapping and froth gathering at his lips in his maddened haze. “I HATE CARD HOUSES!” Bruce ran to the window, shattering it with his head, and laughing as the cold air came in and froze the new cut on his face—the new _manly_ cut, that is—“I HATE WINTER! I HATE CHRISTMAS! I HATE WEATHER!” Running towards his ward he glared at Bippy “I HATE DOGS! WOOF! I CAN BARK BETTER THAN YOU, PUP!” the dog whimpered and ran for cover, but Bruce was already swooping towards Dick, eyes locked on target and hands itching to use utility belt tool after another on this—this _traitor!_

 _“AND I HATE UNREQUITED LOVE!”_ Bruce had barely said these words when he felt a tingle of oddness sweep through him, and he thanked his love of science for his time-alteration blocking machine (needed for that one time, in Vegas…and that other time with the villain and the time warping and the history altering, ugh…) when he felt the time continuum shift around him—suddenly Dick and he were standing in a room with nothing shattered and a brightly coloured Superman before them. Bruce ceased his pounce on his ward, but left one arm around the younger man’s waist as he watched Superman with an air of suspicion. “What do you want, Kent?” Bruce asked, chest heaving as he waited for an explanation, grimacing at the too happy grin on the young man’s face, bouncing body eager as Bippy the pup.

“I came to save Christmas!” Superman declared, beautiful eyes shining brightly, and Batman reaffirmed that this guy was _fucked up—_ always happy and then always sad, like an emo kid on crack, but ten times worse since Lex Luthor had begun banging him some years back.

“Show-off,” he heard Dick mumbling, and felt his heart lighten, perhaps he’d been too harsh on the man…?

“Heard that, Robin,” Superman laughed, and reached out to put a bow on the young man’s head, attached to it was a hanging piece of mistletoe and he replaced the newly restored Superman crystal logo with the finely detailed bat crystal, which sat upon a high-tech looking stand and made Bruce’s heart glow warmly and his cheeks heat.

“Is that—is that for me?” Bruce asked the young ward, and he heard Clark giggle, hating how happy he was ever since his best—and baldest friend—had confessed his love—and didn’t he realize they were _trying to have a moment here?!_  

Ah, right, the mistletoe—damn, that kid was good.

 _Not_ Batman _good,_ but good enough for now.

 “Are you for me?” He whispered into the lips of Dick Grayson, as the newly legal young man leant into their first kiss—not counting that one time in Vegas, or that other time with the petroleum jelly—and sighed as Dick moaned into their kiss. He only pulled back when he heard Clark wishing them a happy holiday and left with his own crystal gift, to return to Lex’s place in his own home city.

“You haven’t seen the best part yet,” Dick said softly, and thoughts of Dick spread out on the bed, garland put to better uses and that _one_ tool on his utility belt not to be used—except in strict _cases of emergency—_ when he felt Dick pulling him out of his mind again. Dick showed him how the intricately carved crystal would light up in a dark flash if the Bat-signal is activated. “I know how much you hate waiting patiently, or standing at windows, or looking at the sky,” Dick said softly, and Bruce was touched—no one else in his lonely life ever really understood his true hatred for all things in life.

“You noticed,” he spoke aloud, not wanting to ruin the moment, but unable to help himself, “you noticed that I don’t enjoy anything and that…I’m Batman,” he finished, eyes closing for a moment to hold back tears.

Dick put down the new notify-device, and leaned back into Bruce’s space, bright eyes mischievous and twinkling in his young face as he leant down to whisper, “You enjoy me,” Bruce laughed darkly, mind once again returning to the puppy suit idea, and all the other little sick fantasies his mind had been constructing over the last year.

In the corner of the room, Alfred coughed politely and retired to the back rooms, where he kept a cage of chirping birds for days where Master Wayne was feeling down—so pretty much every day of the year, and twice on Tuesdays. He sighed as he heard Bippy give a panicked bark and the sound of crashing furniture alerted him that perhaps allowing his young men to mate in the living room was  bad idea, but he’d be damned if he had to go and stop them from finally releasing all that uncomfortable UST.

 _“SAY IT; SAY ‘I’M BATMAN!’”_ He heard a voice call, and the unintelligible response was enough to let Alfred know that this night would end pleasantly for all. Well, except for these young birds and perhaps even Bippy the dog, who was being treated to a show that no man could ever stomach, save perhaps Alfred…but he had already returned to his rooms to rest his weary bones…

So it was that Bippy the pup suffered alone that night, but gave a snort of contentment as he heard whispered grumbling “I love you, Dick,” and a soft, “I love you too, Bruce…”

 

 

Happy Holidays!

_The End_

_~*~_


End file.
